My Lucky Strike
by Thermal Warfare
Summary: It's become routine now - Soul getting wasted at the bar, Maka going to pick him up. Things go down, and eventually someone walks out hurt.


**One More Night**

**A/N; First story on FFnet, even if I have been lurking for who knows how long. It's meant to be a oneshot, but I'm certain I could drag it out into a few more chapters if anyone really wants me to. Until then, however, it stays as is. I hope you all enjoy reading this, as I enjoyed writing it.**

**Happy writing and NaNoWriMo!**

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It was one of those nights.

The clouds were dull, the night sky was dark and without a star or moon to light it. A misty, cool breeze swept across the street, and the sandy haired girl had to pull up her hood to keep her face from getting _too _cold. While her hair was usually in pig tails, neatly placed on either side of her head, today was a different story.

It just so happened that the only reason Maka was even up right now was because a certain white haired _boy_ was out late at the bar again, and she had gotten the call to take him back home. Tsubaki wanted no partake in the events to come, claiming that she was more than happy to get out of the house to come chat with Maka – but when Soul was home and drunk, well, things were non-too-comfortable around the house. After saying their goodbyes, Maka had parted her ways with Tsubaki, and that was how she had made her way to this point.

_Soul_. What did she even see in that pigheaded boy? He was a pain in the ass most of the time, and she was none too thrilled to find out that it was suddenly her responsibility to pick him up. To be fair, picking up the drunken scythe was the last thing Maka had wanted to do that night.

After what seemed like years, she had finally made her way to the bar – and sure enough there he was, at the bar, half asleep. There was a half-full glass in one hand with practically a mountain of empty ones pushed carelessly off to the side. Maka was no expert, but she could easily guess that Soul had drank himself into an oblivion.

Giving a short wave to the bartender ( she'd been here so many times to pick up the white haired weapon that the two knew each other by name ) before seating herself next to him. Giving him a rather hard tap on his shoulder, she saw an eye lazily open, followed by a cocky grin.

"I thought you didn't drink, Maka." One could barely make sense of what was coming out of his mouth, everything tainted with his inability to move his tongue correctly, coming out in lazy slurs.

Maka replied with nothing, simply taking his arm and wrapping it around her neck so that she could pull him up. He was heavy, leaning entirely on her with that obnoxious grin on his face. She almost slapped down a wad of money, but the bartender refused. "On the house," he said with a grin, and Maka could only give him a grin of her own to show how thankful she was.

They were silent, walking down the street together. It had been like that for a while now, Maka noted. Soul would drink to the point where he was probably damaging his liver, only to be dragged back to the flat merely hours later by his housemate.

"… Thank you, Maka."

"You're welcome, Soul."

He leaned up against the wall as she unlocked the door, focusing mainly on the wall until he heard that _click_ signifying that it was unlocked. She returned to his side, helping him over to the couch which he gladly fell down on.

Turning her back, Maka closed and locked the door. When she turned back around, Soul was gone. Figuring he was on his way to his room, she continued on her way to her own room – until he came out of _nowhere_ and pushed her into the wall, holding her there. There was a predatory glint in his eye, and Maka tried to squirm out of his painful grasp.

"S-Soul?" He didn't seem to hear her, as he brushed his lips against her neck, his grip on her tightening with every movement she made to get away. "Soul- _Stop._" He did stop, at least for a moment to chuckle against her neck, rubbing the spot with his nose momentarily as he thought over his words.

"Did you know," he started, drawling out the syllables as she felt him grin against her neck, "how long I've wanted to do this? To get past whatever the hell you call this _relationship_?" He bit down, earning him a yelp of surprise, before continuing.

"A long time, Maka."

It was at that point that she pushed against him, palms flat against his chest. She wanted to _get away_, because this was wrong and as much as she refused to admit that she wanted this too, it was in all the wrong ways. When she gave one, final push against him, he finally let up. Taking a few steps back, Soul only gave a shrug, his eyes clouded too much for her to tell what was really in there.

Her eyes stung, tears threatening to overflow as she glared at him with as much hate as she could muster. Soul was playing her, she _knew_ it. He was using her for his own gain, he was drunk and the pungent smell of alcohol stuck in the air, surrounding her – suffocating her. She struggled to keep her breathing even, swallowing the lump that had grown in her throat. Quickly, Maka turned tail and ducked behind her bedroom door.

All men were the same, after all.


End file.
